Drat It: Who needs another dog?

Jul. 26, 2013

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Features editor

Looking for a friend?

The Richland County Dog Shelter and Adoption Center, 810 N. Home Road, Mansfield, is open 9 a.m to 5 p.m. Monday to Friday and 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Saturday. For information, call 419-774-5892. To see adoptable pets online, visit www.petfinder.com/shelters/Oh427.html.

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There has been a lot of talk in the Goble household about adding a second dog to the family.

Mind you, the last thing we need is another dog. It’s not as if we don’t have our hands full with Loki. Stretched out on the floor, our Newfoundland mix is roughly 6-foot long, from nose to tail. On the rare occasions when he stands on his hind legs, he can look me in the eye. He sheds enough for three dogs, requires two walks a day and, given an opportunity, can sit on all three of our laps at once.

When he needs medicine, it usually costs more, because he requires a larger-than-standard dose. We won’t even discuss the dog food bills. He used to eat four cups a day, but the vet had us cut back a little bit to keep Loki at a svelte 85 pounds. He’s actually fairly lean under all that black fur of his — but by square footage alone, we have enough dog.

I acknowledge that. Really, I do.

But Loki is very much a family dog. He adores my daughter, but he’s not her dog: He’s our dog.

He loves and protects her, misses her when she’s away and lives to make her smile — but he sleeps on the floor by my side. Daughter can’t even walk him by herself, because if he ever bolted, it’s unlikely she could stop him. (He’s extremely well-behaved and that sort of thing’s very rare, but it does happen.)

I’d like my daughter to experience the joy of having a dog that loves her more than anyone else in the world. I want her to have a dog that sleeps in her room, follows her everywhere and keeps all of her secrets. She’s 12, and she’s never had a pet of her own.

I’m even prepared to let her name the new dog. Coming from me, that’s a huge concession.

My other motivation for wanting a second dog comes from Facebook. I wrote a big story earlier this year about what to expect when you bring a new dog home. (How convenient, right?) In the course of writing it, I met a lot of the wonderful people who support the dog shelters in Richland and Ashland counties, and several of them are now friends on Facebook. I also made a point of “liking” the Facebook page of any number of rescue and shelter support groups.

As a result, I now see dozens of pictures of homeless dogs every day on Facebook. I fall in love with at least half of them.

After spending many hours staring at Petfinder.com, I finally broke down and visited the Richland County dog shelter last week. A few smaller dogs had arrived at the shelter, and the time seemed right.

I hadn’t been to that shelter for a long time, but things haven’t changed much. It’s loud, it’s sad and it smells of dog and disinfectant. It’s a huge credit to the staff there that it doesn’t smell of anything else.

The hallways are filled with big, colorful murals, but the kennels themselves seem gray and colorless. The walls might be neon pink, for all I know; they seemed gray. I wasn’t really looking at the walls anyway. I saw only dogs. As I walked past, the dogs started barking, each begging for attention. Skinny, fat, young, old, all colors, all sizes, all starving for love.

First I looked at the small dogs. They were sweet little things, all big eyes and wagging tails. A puggle (pug-beagle mix) eyed me soulfully. A little white fuzzball licked my fingers through the bars.

The larger dogs are kept in another wing of the shelter. That’s were my heart broke: There were just so many of them.

It is so very hard to accept that the shelter is the best place for these animals right now. There, they are clean, safe and well-fed. People care for them.

Ultimately, though, the shelter’s concrete floors may be kept spotlessly clean, but they’re still concrete.

I walked down an entire row of cages housing beautiful, healthy, bright-eyed and friendly-looking dogs whose only sin was that each showed some sign of “bulldog” heritage.

The most heart-breaking cage of all housed Isis, a beautiful, elderly white husky with one blue eye, one brown. She was resting and — unlike all the others — didn’t bother getting up. She just watched me pass. She’s been there a long time; she knows the drill. People just walk past old ladies like her. I had to walk past, too, and my heavy heart did her no good whatsoever.

She deserves a home. But so do all of the others.

I passed the cage that once — almost exactly four years ago — held an exceptionally large black dog with a mess of matted black fur and a shaved hindquarter. I remember taking that dog outside to the small yard in front of the shelter, where he leaned against my legs so hard he almost knocked me off my feet. He loved being outside, but he loved people even more.

That was Loki.

During last week’s visit, the only dog that seemed particularly interested in being with me was a Pomeranian, as petite and white and Loki is big and black — but just as fuzzy. He’s a sweetie, but I had some misgivings about having such a mismatched pair of fellows around the house.

In the end, we decided against having Daughter and Loki come over to meet him. We’ll wait just a bit longer before adopting another dog. I suspect we’ll know when the time is right.

Ultimately, we don’t need a dog — but I’m sure there’s a dog out there that needs us.